


keep your head up and make it to me

by Mariss95



Series: In another life [14]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired By Sense8, OlicityHiatusFic, OlicityHiatusFic-A-Thon, but happy ending i swear, violence warned at the beginning of the chapter containing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariss95/pseuds/Mariss95
Summary: It all changes in a second.One moment she's in a stuffy room in a corner of campus, computer parts scattered all around her, the next she's in a seemingly-endless beach.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> soulmate au. inspired by the sense8 way of connecting, but just with oliver x felicity (no knowledge of the show needed to understand the story)  
> written for the olicity hiatus fic-a-thon | prompt: out of place  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/162381114157/keep-your-head-up-and-make-it-to-me)]

It all changes in a second.

One moment she's in a stuffy room in a corner of campus, computer parts scattered all around her, the next she's in a seemingly-endless beach.

The sunlight is blinding at first. Cloudless sky and a gush of wind that smells like the ocean establishing a clear contrast to her reality.

Yet this feels so real.

She stubbornly closes her eyes, trying to blink the mirage away. But, even without sight, her senses are assaulted by the scene: heavy boots stomping on the sand, rude-sounding commands in a language she doesn't recognise, heavy breathing and a thrumming heartbeat that seem to come from her chest.

But they do not.

"Kid!" a stern australian accent hisses to her left.

Startled, her eyes flutter open and it's all gone.

Her make-shift workstation for the week is still as dreadful and isolated as before. The smell of coffee permeates the room, and a deafening silence surrounds her. Maybe she's dozed off from exhaustion? Lately working herself into the ground has been the only alternative to her insomnia.

Deciding to skip more coffee then, she reaches for a water bottle, suddenly feeling parched. Taking in the soreness in her body she doesn't remember having before, she downs the drink fearing dehydration.

Something's weighting down her hands now too and upon looking down she nearly falls out of her chair at seeing a knife. The blade is cold and hard under her fingertips as she turns it around in shock.

These nightmares are really getting out of control. Her therapist has been working with her about this, the myriad of terrors that haunt her whenever she manages to doze off, clear signs of her feeling responsible for Cooper's decisions and actions, shouldering the guilt and what ifs.

But nothing has more clearly screamed the hair-dye and wardrobe transformation hasn't helped turn the page like picturing an actual killing machine in her hands; like feeling a known desperation clawing at her insides.

Yet it's not just hers.

Because just as fast as the deadly tool appeared in her grasp, her hands become someone else's. Big, rough and hardened. The hold on the handle is shaky and uncomfortable, yet clutches at it sporadically for dear life.

She looks up, the beach once again surrounding her. But now it's absolute mayhem.

The boot-sounding people are black-covered soldiers, rushing around and shooting at a faraway target by her right. The booming sound of their weapons fills the quiet that was her world. Her gaze flickers taking it all, finally drawing to the left sensing movement nearby. A frantic figure crouches behind a truck, a now-familiar knife clutched in the hands that for a moment seemed to be her own. He dashes for cover time and again, closer and closer still until, in a moment she'll replay forever, their eyes meet.

"What are you doing here?" he whispers, both a cry for help and to go away swimming in his blue gaze.

Her mouth opens, her mind jumping from one thought to another, drowning in this sea of uncertainty. And just as breath is leaving her parted lips, it all vanishes at once.

"I don't know," she ends up muttering to the emptiness around her. Darkness surrounds her again, the imprint of this glimpse into another world haunting her.

* * *

It takes a month before it really happens again.

There had been flashes here and there. A fiery smell that didn't add up to her surroundings. A distinct pain in a part of her body or another, seemingly unprovoked. Unshakable, shivering cold overtaking her body. A cry in the middle of the night startling her awake, her throat aching as if that hoarse voice had been her own; but it was too deep, manly, _his_.

She has half a mind to think she's hallucinating. Going insane. Over-stimulated and projecting her fears and uncertainties onto something else, someone else.

But when the view from the rooftop she secludes herself to nowadays shifts into the greenest jungle she's ever seen, any excuse and explanation evaporates.

The air is dense, humid but welcomed. Birds' callings echo around her, sunlight peeking through the trees, shining down on a man standing right before her. _The_ man.

He seems steadier than that day, cleaner, his breaths deep and measured. And, instead of a knife, in his hands holds a bow and arrow. But his eyes, once he turns to her as she takes a hesitant step forward, are unmistakable. The same shade of blue that's held so many emotions that day meets her own. Andshe sees and reads as many thoughts as he surely feels in hers.

" _You_ ," he whispers in recognition, loosening the hold on his weapon. Though it wasn't directed at her, the move is appreciated.

He's just as tentative turning towards her, his body familiar in such an unexplainable way, and unmistakably showing his confusion yet ease at their reunion, instead of fear.

Somehow she feels the same way.

He edges closer, wonder brightening his glorious features. She does as well, a step then two, foliage cracking under her heeled feet, until they stand so close she can make up a mole edging his mouth.

They take each other in, eyes dancing over another being that's grown so familiar. It's impossible, but she can swear she feels his joy at her presence, his sense of relief at connecting with something else, and also his deep pain, not alike her own, heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. There's so much between them, in them, unspeakable yet understandable, beyond reason and doubt. So much that makes sense without explanation, because he's a mirror of her soul, staring back at her as if she's giving him the world.

So much so that when he lifts up his empty hand, gently closing the distance, she expectantly waits his touch, following his path with her sight until it reaches her face. And yet when he finally makes contact, those rugged fingers that had held a blade once and pulled at the bow's string a mere moment before, surprisingly feel solid, warm, _real_.

"How?" she finds herself breathing, echoing his thoughts.

He lets out a breath, and looking up she sees his sight still set on their touch, a smile now pulling at the corner of his lips. Mindlessly and without thought, she mirrors the motion, letting the current flowing through her veins overtake her whole being.

She laughs, a burst of air and awe at everything this is, everything they are. How alive she feels for the first time in forever in the most surreal way possible.

His laughter is as warm as his touch, caressing her inside out, as he tenderly strokes her cheek, then traces the edges of her mouth.

She gasps, maybe at how vibrantly that makes her feel, maybe at the swift change around them as once again her city's skyline replaces the sea of green. The rooftop is open in comparison, traffic bursting through loud and clear despite the height, yet this time that haunting, fantastic world that is his comes with her. For he is just as solid and present in front of her, gaze drawn from her to take their new surrounding in. He can see it too, feel the concrete under his muddy boots, the rush of life resounding all around them.

"Where are we?" he lets out at last, the warm palm still cupping her cheek, softly anchoring her in this dual reality.

"Boston."

"United States." He turns to her then in shock. She nods, not having to wonder where this is heading when he says then, "Starling City. Have you ever heard of it?"

She hasn't, yet the thought doesn't deter him in the least, as he looks her straight in the eye, those intensely blue and deep eyes pleading with her, as if he even needed to. As if she hasn't felt his twists of emotions all along, as he clearly has hers.

"Oliver. Oliver Queen," he says, his still bow-yielding hand motioning to this chest.

"Oliver," she mouths under his touch, eliciting his most beautiful smile yet at the sound.

"Yes. I need… I need you to look for me. I need you to find me," he struggles to make sense, choosing words, not quite knowing what to say, what to do.

"Find you?" He's right here. In her head. A part of her. But can he also be…? "Where?"

" _Kid! They're coming!_ " the australian-sounding guy yells in alarm.

Oliver looks around them, the city blurring into jungle and back again, and by the look in his emotive eyes once they meet hers once more, this is about to end.

"Look for me," he voices again, drinking her in, dreading the goodbye, as badly as she's hurting too. "Please…"

"Felicity," she breathes out against his thumb soothingly running over her parted lips again.

" _Felicity_ ," Oliver repeats in wonder, the breath he lets out tickling her skin.

Then a breath, a pause, and he's gone.

Her hand hangs mid-air where she was reaching out to him. Her cheek grows cold without his touch, her mouth is still tasting his name.

His name, she remembers and takes it in, just as every sliver of him she's gotten through this month since it's started. His name that she searches in a whim once she can shake herself awake from that dazing reality and walk back to her room. His name she finds, bolded and clear as day, in an online article that sheds more light and puzzling truth to everything that's bottled up inside her.

"LOST AT SEA, ROBERT QUEEN AND SON, OLIVER QUEEN."

_He is real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> I hope you liked my play with the soulmate trope. I've really enjoyed it and have more ideas, so if this is something you like and would want to read more of, pretty please show it some love!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the fantastic response to this idea!  
> it's fuelled me to keep going and make it into a short multi-chapter. it's almost completely written now, and will be updated on Mondays and Fridays :)
> 
> before going forth with the story:  
> -you may have noticed that the show's timeline has been altered a bit, so olicity's age difference is much smaller  
> -a heads up that this chapter contains a mildly graphic scene of violence, in the first part
> 
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/162561053012/keep-your-head-up-and-make-it-to-me-chapter-2)]

He's real.

Flesh and blood, as human and whole as she is. Also seemingly as broken and shattered inside too, but still.

_How can a name in a page change everything?_

A whole day goes by of reading whatever is available about him, his life, his apparent end. Another scrounging for news about any possible sighting of his wrecked ship, any clue to point the way. And a third recounting and getting down everything she's known from him alone.

It's not enough. She needs more. They need more.

She spends countless hours, class after class, racking her brain on what to do, who to contact, what to say. Without concrete evidence or a location her words will fade away, a false illusion to an already heartbroken family.

She's even more desperate to reach him. Playing back their meetings, trying to figure out how to get to him, how to fill the maddening silence with answers, his voice for direction, or at least asserting his safety.

For she knows he's not only marooned somewhere, but also in harms way. Gunfire, weapons on rough hands, and harsh lines in a once carefree face tell her as much.

With time for this newfound reality to sink in, her brain is overflowing with questions, theories and doubts. Just a chance to see him, take in the look in his eyes, hear his voice would be enough for now.

Yet when it finally happens, it's not at all what she's been expecting. And talking… talking is the last thing in her mind.

A hard blow to her stomach makes her double over. She's coughing, grasping to the table's edges of the coffee shop she frequents daily, trying to make herself upright. But, just as suddenly as the first impact hit, she feels her head being pulled back by her hair, her sight setting on the people looking at her strangely.

She tries to break free of the tight hold, but her hands seem bound behind her back, around a tree trunk, guessing by the cold feeling of wood against her fingertips. And just as she's trying to gasp his name, to go to him, be as present and vivid as possible, to try to _do_ _something_ , the feeling of a hand tightly closing around her throat takes her breath away. She's gasping, desperately wanting an out of this nightmare for them both. Yet it's his reality, one that's become her own; one she doesn’t know how to control.

Breathing's getting harder by the second, her lungs aching, vision blurring the longer it goes on. In the dizziness she can barely make up a couple of people crowding around her, struggling to help, their touch felt but useless. And just for a moment, she closes her eyes, attempts to call back to just him, saying everything without words; to hang on, to keep fighting, _to live_.

She's about to lose consciousness, lose him –and maybe herself too?– when it all goes away. She slumps against the manager holding her by the arm, coughing and drawing air, her freed hands grasping at her aching throat. It takes a moment longer for it all to sink in, her body reeling back to being just her own, the scene before her coming into focus. The coffee shop's activity seemingly halted for her, people gaping strangely at her, offers of calling an ambulance being made.

It becomes obvious they couldn't feel or understand anything that happened. Even having lived what she has these past couple of months, she barely can really make sense of it herself. The resolve to do so only strengthens every time they get through to each other.

So she excuses herself from people around her, reassuring her safety, and runs to keep working to get to him. In hushed whispers for a sign of life, when she's alone at last. Pleading words that get lost past her lips. Focused thoughts that lead nowhere, no echoes coming back her way.

* * *

It's deafeningly quiet for weeks.

Enough that she's grown desperate, desolate, feeling like a failure once again.

Which is why when she sees him standing outside her classroom's door, her heart stops.

" _Oliver_ ," she says, getting shushed by people around her.

And this, again, doesn't matter. Heart and mind are steps away, ones she barrels through, ignoring the lecture going on, and bursting to the hallway. There she finds him leaning against the wall, eyes alight at her sight, the whole rest of him deflated.

"What's happened?"

"Ambush. I got taken. Blacked out," he mutters, suppressing a groan.

She winces, having feared so, his pain being her own, and hates the guilt that washes over him at the sight.

"No." He's shaking his head, pressing as much as he can to the wall, keeping her at bay. Tears well in his eyes. "I thought you could be feeling what I do too. Please tell me not the wounds. That they haven't gotten to you too."

And she shushes him, her hands raising, reaching out, hoping he won't reject her touch. Despite the battle of wills in his gaze, he doesn't. So she closes the distance and lays a hand on his forearm, over the torn shirt, feeling his cold skin yet searing touch.

He's there, heart steading the longer she holds on, the deeper their eyes lock.

"Not like you. Not that much," she shares, feeling just a hint of relief mixing with his self-hatred.

"It's still too much. Not fair," he mumbles, maybe to her, mostly to him; the distinction blurs more every time.

She tries to convey how much she cares in the tightening of her hold in his arm. His blue eyes meet the determination in hers.

"I want to help you, Oliver," she says, believing and feeling every word, just as much as the deep breath he takes at her statement.

"You shouldn't. I don't deserve it."

And there she sees it, in the tightening of his jaw and lump in his throat. A new wave of guilt she's grown too familiar with.

"What happened?"

He's shaking his head, tears brimming his deep blues once more. They stray from hers, to hide away everything she could get from it, or to take in the flurry of activity that floods the hallway as a nearby class empties.

"Oliver," she whispers trying to draw him back to her, to _them_.

But then a different voice carries her name forward: Claire, a girl she's shared notes a few times with calls her from across the hall. She turns to her, already thinking on how to explain him here and buy them a quick getaway, but Claire's green eyes are only set on her, her signature bright smile giving place to a frown the more she looks at her.

"Felicity, are you okay?" she asks, eyeing her hold on Oliver. Yet when looking left to it he's not there; her arm, once tight on his shaking bicep, is clutching at air, leaning against the wall.

She lets go, turning her fist upside down, his touch a mere memory now.

"Not really," she says, her mind lost somewhere far from here.

* * *

From that point forward it almost feels like he's holding back.

She's still not sure how this works, what this is really. But the more she tries to _call_ him, as ridiculous as it sounds, the more frustrating the silence becomes.

The fact the fight wasn't as alive in his eyes the last time she saw him, doesn't help any.

She'll not give up. As drained in remorse as she's been in her worst times, there was still something there, something worth pushing through for. Be it Cooper's memory, her mother, herself. Now Oliver too.

An internet search is not the same as looking into his soul, but the love and grief on his mother and sister's eyes say enough. He's got a life back home, a future. His eyes tell her, clear as day, he's got a conscience, good in his heart, breath in his lungs to keep fighting.

She desperately wants to breathe more into it.

So she digs deeper in every direction, both a trail of his physical self, and a hint of the one she seems to get.

Slowly she starts getting sparse flashes, like faraway memories that are not her own. A pair of rich, dark eyes, kind, forgiving, that provide strength. The sting of a cut on her unmarked skin that goes away as swiftly as it started. An arrow swishing through the air, hitting a tree as she's walking through campus. The whisper of her name, so tender and apologetic, that she tries to follow yet gets lost in the wind, never meeting the sound of his name leaving her lips.

Nothing's enough to make up a clear picture or provide any real answers.

All she learns is he needs out, _now_.

She's almost lost track of the last time she's felt the caress of his eyes on hers, when he finally reaches out in kind.

Two words, six letters. At first sight, meaningless. A carved trail in the sand suddenly covering her room's floor. A riddle, peace offering and hand outstretched all in one.

A mystery she takes at heart, mulls over, and dives into. A gasp leaves her lips when in time she finds the answer.

* * *

 

An anonymous-looking email pops up in the SCPD's network, getting a message across she hopes is taken as seriously as she's with it.

A name she's grown to cherish from deep within her heart: Oliver Queen.

Then another, saved to memory in his make-shift etch in the sand: Lian-Yu.

And a string of numbers that carry a part of her and will lead them to a spot in the North China Sea.

To where hopefully they'll look, and find, and bring his beating heart back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> pretty please leave me your thoughts/reactions about it :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/162696595397/keep-your-head-up-and-make-it-to-me-chapter-3)]

A swaying motion awakes her.

Her bed seems still enough, but by now she knows better. She's no longer just her, but a part of him too.

Drawing the covers back, Felicity climbs out on shaky feet, anxiously awaiting the sight of him.

And in a blink of an eye she's there. A fishing boat, she'll dare to guess by the smell, steadily rocking on the vast ocean. And, standing by the edges of it, facing away from her to the shore of an island growing farther away, is Oliver Queen.

 _It worked_.

They got to him, someone who doesn't seem to be shooting at him by the looks of it, considering his slumped shoulders encompassed in a grey throw. Yet mixed with a slight relief, she feels a weight in his chest. Thoughts swirl in his head making her dizzy, overwhelmed.

But he's here. Before her, in a way, at last.

Focusing on that she walks to him, ignoring the cold under her bare feet, seeping into her scarcely-dressed self. Upon reaching him she waits, her hand hovering inches from his back.

"It's okay," his voice carries through softly; tired, forlorn, but also warm, as he's always been with her.

So she lays her palm down firmly, feeling his muscles relax at the soothing motions her fingers begin drawing upon it. His evening breaths and steading heart relieve her aching one.

How she's grown to care so much for a virtual stranger should probably be scary, scarier; especially after what she'd just went through this past year. But just a moment of feeling the flow of emotions between them, the most intense and all-encompassing wave pulling them together, is reason enough.

She steps forward until they're side by side, her touch straying to his shoulder then down his arm, lowering to cradle his hand in hers. It isn't until he tangles their fingers together that she looks up into his eyes.

"Hi," she whispers tenderly, and gets a breathy "hi" in return.

"I'm happy to see you," she shares, showing how proud and thankful she is all in one. His answering smile is tainted with sadness, but a glimmer in his eyes and the tightening of his hold on her says he is as well.

In their newfound calm she's tempted to give voice to so many questions, but she fears they are too much, too soon. The restraint she feels inside of him seems to say so. In a moment of weakness she finds herself thinking that maybe he doesn't want her here at all, doesn't need her presence or emotions overcrowding his world.

"Hey," Oliver says getting her attention again, the furrow between his brows and his free hand coming up to cup her cheek directing her to him even more. "Don't think like that. I… I _really_ _do_."

So he hears and _feels_ her to the core as she does him. The extent of it is unknown, and terrifying in its vulnerability.

"I shouldn't," he goes on, his deep blue eyes betraying his self-hatred once again, "it's selfish. Which I've always been, so it's not surprising. But _you_ ," he says, his thumb reverently caressing her cheek as if she were to dissolve any second now. Everything in her holds onto this moment, his touch against hers, the breeze blowing on both of them. "You don't deserve any of this. Of _me_."

"Oliver," she breaks in, feeling the rawness of his last words stinging her chest. "I know your pain, as you maybe do mine," she ventures to say, the darkening of his eyes showing some concession. "But we don't get to choose for each other. Not even if this were _real_ real," she motions laying a palm on his chest over his wonderful beating heart.

And he smiles, sadness dripping away from it as he takes in her touch. It doesn't take long for his sight to set on hers once more, the knot she's felt clogging his throat from the moment she awoke thankfully loosening the longer they exist together.

Foreign voices break through their bubble eventually: a couple fishermen look strangely at them from across the boat, harsh sounds exchanged between them as they survey them, _him._

"You can see them, can't you?" Oliver says by her side. She nods, not for the first time thinking anyone from the other side can't sense them, as they do each other.

"Will you…" Oliver's voice catches in his throat, hesitant. Thankfully his thoughts finish his sentiment, carrying through easily to her. She smiles in consent, her hand squeezing his a bit tighter.

' _Will you stay with me? Just a while longer._ '

' _Always._ '

* * *

In the following days she feels him reaching out to her more.

His silhouette becomes a welcomed presence during her remaining lessons: first looking at her from afar and drawing comfort while he's dealing with anxiety over his journey back home, then sitting down on the ever-empty seat by her side, even holding her hand, anchoring them both. Other times it's with the quiet of his mind, at last slowing down from months of unrelenting danger, settling her when her brain is drowning with numbers and past nightmares. Or, her favourite, his voice, caressing her name from time to time, wondering if she's still there, still with him, simultaneously showing he's there for her.

And so their bond, with its shades of light and darkness, grows steady and strong, a newfound balance. It's still a mystery in so many ways that she vows to uncover, but a reassuring one instead of a wayward roller coaster completely out of their control.

The swift changes in her surroundings are still startling at times, like right now when she walks out of her bathroom in just a fluffy purple bathrobe to find herself dripping water onto a hospital room. And, just as before, it's the sight of Oliver that sets her at ease.

This time he's standing by a window across the room, mirroring how she'd found him on the boat a little over a week ago, only in a boxy hospital gown, a distantly familiar city visible through the glass and reflected in his gaze.

"Where are we?" she says, bypassing greetings as it's becoming their new normal.

"Starling City," his weighty voice carries through.

And so his trepid demeanour makes more sense.

"Your home."

He nods, his fingers rubbing together, almost calling for her hold. She doesn't hesitate to do just that, sensing his never-ending awe at actually feeling her touch, as if she were really there. She has relished that very thing every time too.

"The doctors surely think I'm insane. Talking by myself, reaching out to the air."

"Yeah, I've been there too. If people weren't thinking I was weird before, they surely do now."

Yet there's no apologies in sight, just smiles in shared understanding, potential awkwardness being a low cost to pay for sharing everything they do.

"For a while I did think I was going crazy," he shares breaking their quiet, opening at last a door to face the unspoken: his time away. "When I saw you at the beach that first time, I thought for a moment that you were real. Caught in that madness somehow as I was. I wanted to help you, but I looked away for a moment and then you were gone. I thought you must've gotten away, been a part of them maybe."

She lets him be, patiently waiting for what else, if anything, he wants to relive and reveal with words to her now.

"When I begun feeling things that weren't real, the craziness idea set in." Surprisingly he's smiling, his sight lost in the memories where their lives had started blurring. She doesn't have to wonder for much longer what peeks into her life he'd gotten, for he moves on. "A jumble of words and numbers that made no sense," _a code_ written in her screen surely, "a sad song coming out of headphones or something," from when she'd tried to drown her sorrows between Adele and her tear-stained pillow, "the smell and taste of coffee. God that felt so good, I didn't care how it all was getting to me. It was something out of the island, why would I fight it?"

Something warms in her chest at the knowledge that somehow he'd drawn comfort from her, just by existing. But then, has he also felt her pain?

The way he draws her closer still, his forehead falling against hers says so.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his breath ghosting over her face, making this insanely real. "I don't know everything that happened and, as ironic as it may sound, I don't mean to pry. But I'm sorry something has made you hurt that badly… the thought that I've brought more pain to you now _kills_ me."

"Shh," she whispers again, knowing firsthand that if allowed, the guilt game is never-ending. "You've brought so much good too," she says, feeling his resistance to believe that. Yet he has.

She found a purpose to push her forward. An encouraging person that felt she was good enough. Someone who saw and felt the good and the bad and trusted her all the same. Someone who cared with all his being and fought his darkness within. Someone who survived and pushed to thrive, inspiring her to do the same.

" _Thank_ _you_ ," he mumbles against her skin, his lips pressing a most felt kiss to the top of her head.

"You too," she exhales, letting herself fall into the hold of his embrace.

He's big and inviting, hard and soft in the best of ways, warming her inside out. She feels all tension leaving their bodies, melting into one another, both taking their first real deep breaths in so long. And in that cocoon of safety he allows to breathe another truth into her hair. One she felt from deep within and has shared so many times.

"I'm scared." She holds him a little tighter, burrowing her still-damp hair against his neck, relishing in how easily he slumps against her before going on. "I don't know who I am anymore, how to be who I was. If I even want to."

"I know the feeling," she whispers, memories of dark hair and coding sessions that ended in the unspeakable flashing through her mind and, therefore, his. Swiftly she changes gears, not ready or wanting to voice her every truth just now. Thankfully he just holds her a bit tighter and follows the trail of her spoken words instead.

"And who were you?" she says then, him knowing instantly she's seen his public past, yet isn't aiming at that.

"Not enough. Neither am I now."

The sound of the door opening breaks their moment then.

"Oliver?" a shaky voice says before her and opening her eyes she spots Moira Queen looking straight at her. No, not _at_ Felicity, because she's technically not really here, but at her son's back. One that flinches under her touch, a fine tremble growing from within.

Felicity leans back, already missing his heat against hers, and takes ahold of his face between her hands.

"Then work to be enough for yourself. That good is a part of you. I can feel it with everything in me."

His lips stretch in the most beautiful smile she's ever seen, mouthing "I see it in _all_ of you". His eyes are brimming with emotion, piercing through her for what feels like forever yet not enough, before he closes them to compose himself. Then a steadying breath fills his lungs, the whisper of 'I'm ready' coming through as she caresses his face one last time before he leans back and turns to face his past and his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> pretty please leave me your reactions and/or thoughts about it :)


	4. Chapter 4

The next time she really sees him, he looks like a whole different person.

Amongst the shrinking crowds in her current local airport at midnight, he could've gone virtually undetected if she hadn't felt his presence. But the pull of his gaze drew her away from the light read filling her time. And there, standing by the edge of the open room, is Oliver, head tilting to the side, beckoning for her to follow him. She does, excitingly, closing the distance and deviating to a seemingly deserted corridor that simply leads to a door marked 'private'.

He's leaning against it now, and under the clear fluorescent light shining on them, she allows herself to really take him in.

His hair is shorter, cropped from the shaggy strands that overcrowded his face. Clean, neat, inviting, as is the stubble now barely shadowing his always impressing jawline, only highlighting that mole at the corner of his lips her eyes have gravitated to time and again.

He smiles now, the tight lock of his jaw releasing as she belatedly realises he's probably reading her all too well.

Yet, embarrassment be damned, she can't help the journey of rediscovering him, particularly as she feels him relaxing further every second that goes by. She does as well, but like melting into puddle, as he's wearing a suit, crisp and new, fitted to his impressive physique. The tie looks too tight on the collar, his fingers rubbing against his thumb in the urge to take it off, shed constrictions that feel smothering somehow.

The reason for it becomes even clearer when the hallway gives place to a fancy ballroom, filled to the brim with aristocrat-looking people, jazz music softly playing from the corner, the offer of alcohol passing through with suited waiters and all. Suddenly the faint taste of champagne on her tongue makes sense.

Moira Queen walks by her side next, barely straying Oliver's attention from her for a moment before their eyes meet once again. Felicity raises an eyebrow at him in question, suppressing a smile at his shoulders shrugging and eyes sweeping the room.

So in all her leggings and baggy sweater glory, she purposely walks towards him, takes his hand and leads them away somewhere, his reappeared smile reassuring her all along.

The ballroom opens up to an almost deserted foyer, impressive in its size and opulence, all wooden as well, but with a small table front and centre crowded with family pictures. _His_ family.

His thumb draws soothing circles over the back of her hand in his hold, lightly tugging her attention his way and directing them to a door across the room, one he opens and leads her through, taking her breath away. For behind it lays the biggest, most impressive household library she's ever seen in person. Or well, in presence?

He chuckles beside her, mirth coming through as their eyes meet and he thanks her for being herself.

" _This_ is your house," she states in awe, even more impressed by the shyness he emanates, not missing either the uncomfortableness that's been present in him as soon as she's pierced through to his side of things. So " _much_ nicer than my airport hallway," she adds teasingly to lighten the mood.

The widening of his smile and heartfelt thank you coming through shows her success.

"And the people out there… extended family?" she guesses.

"Welcome home party," he mutters disapprovingly. "They needed it more than me," he adds, justifying his disappearance with her, as if it were needed. "And you, flying to…?"

"Vegas. Home," she says, the word feeling as faulty on her tongue as his did. For he's not the only stranger drifting back to a life that doesn't feel like his own anymore. One that gratefulness doesn't do enough to make it right. Exactly how she feels coming back to her mom and the known lights from her childhood. All the love and acceptance they convey, despite the things she's gone through, somehow not making up a space she feels good setting new roots in.

"Congratulations on the graduation though," he says, drawing a smile back onto her mouth, especially feeling how proud he is. "Now I guess we both have to find our new selves."

"If you've got a short-cut, let me know," she jokes, breath catching in her throat at the shift in his stare, just as he begins walking closer to her.

"Well this is a new part," he says, playful as she's rarely seen him. She relishes in it, the glint in his eyes that appears to be a part of him that's made it through his endeavour mostly unscathed. "It may be duller, but if you ask me, a little better without the worry of being in harms way at any moment."

"I'd definitely say so," she agrees wholeheartedly, his awkwardness at settling back into this after everything he's lived lately felt in her whole being. But there's also something more, a well of emotion that grows the more they breathe the same air.

"Seeing my family has been great. My sister… she's grown up so much in just over a year. But I… it's strange how I feel more at home here, with you, that by badly playing the version they want of me."

"I understand." And she so does, him being the first person that has really seen her as whole, and championed her strength ever since her world had crumbled down. The one that's held her just a few days ago, when the anniversary of Cooper's death had struck her by the break of dawn. The arms that surrounded her with his warmth and silent support as she cried her guilt away. She'd wanted so badly to turn around and embrace him, but it'd somehow felt like enough. Enough vulnerability and pain shared. Just how far she trusted not to look into Oliver's eyes and get lost in his unrelenting trust. So she'd merely held onto his palm enclosing hers, feeling his breath ghosting over the back of her neck; her name whispered in the dark, as well with 'I'm here', and 'it's not on you' as he'd finally gotten a real view of the memories that haunt her and are shaping who she is now.

"Thank you," she belatedly gets to say, her heart swelling in her chest at the next word out of his lips, and everything it entails.

" _Always_."

And like a flash she's just lately getting used to, she gets a glimpse into the memories playing in his head. His tough conversation had with the detectives upon arriving home; his mother's hand clasped in one of his, the other trying to reach for her own, as he'd had to recall and recite his father's demise. Then a curt episode with who she learns now was his ex-girlfriend, where apologies and promises to stay away had left his lips, words drowning in remorse and shame. And lastly a bear hug, given by a feisty twelve year old with adorable dimples, her face bursting with joy, wonderfully warming his heart and, therefore, Felicity's as well. Getting to see his side of things instead of just feel them from afar without context is fascinating, the fact both tough and beautiful is coming through is appreciated.

He's not hiding away from her. The openness in his deep blue eyes once her sight focuses back on their present screams as much, together with the message of 'I want to', 'for and _with you_ '. It'd be scary in its magnitude if everything in her, despite warning sings and still unresolved riddles, wasn't wanting just the same.

For the hollowness that's been in the pit of her stomach for so long is much closer to gone with the thought of him. His companionship and deep care for her overwhelming in its intensity, yet so welcomed and longed for. His sight and the mere sensation of his touch against her skin, even just as they are right now, feels _right_ , perfect even.

Her fingers tighten her hold on his, not for the first time cherishing how much they make each other feel. Her other hand reaches out to his chest, still fascinated by the beat of his heart jumping through his shirt, felt beneath her palm and echoing inside her as well. Only to then drift her touch north, relishing in the glimpse of surprise in his expressive eyes as she grabs ahold of his tie, running her fingers upwards to lightly loosen the knot he's been itching to undo all along.

His neck muscles twitch at her actions, her skin barely brushing his but setting nerves alive in their wake. Their gaze locks, blue on blue drowning helplessly yet willingly, letting free reign to another bulk of feelings that have been growing and kept at bay. The air feels thick with anticipation, this time not because of their surroundings but steaming from simply _them_.

" _Felicity_ ," the deep sound leaves his lips, as if he's tasting every letter of it, calling her closer still.

And so she complies, gliding forward until there's nothing but an inch of space between them. Her hand leaves his and strays to his shoulder, feeling the play of muscles beneath it. The other slides back down to his chest, feeling his pulse quicken the longer they breathe each other in.

"Oliver…" she inhales, tentatively giving reign to what's brewing beneath her skin, reacting to his. And when looking back into his fiery gaze she sees it darken, becoming all the more deep and inviting. As heady as the feeling of his touch landing on her lower back, softly anchoring them together.

She's entranced, lost in this world that's just theirs, wonderfully whole, _home_. Her sight strays to his parted lips, biting her own at the treacherous thought that's made it to her mind more than once these past few weeks. Would it feel… just as much as his touch, as his breath ghosting over her skin right now?

She licks her lips, so close to tasting his own, and looks up at him through her lashes, and right there she finds everything she needs.

For there's wonder in his sight too, a tenderness that shouldn't be possible with as much tension as is palpable between them right then, but it's clear as day in his easy smile and soothing touch once his hands cup her face, tilting it slightly up.

Their lips part, no sound coming out as it's all said and done in every way. The piercing emotion flowing through further defining every action done to this day. And so, rising onto her tiptoes, she reaches out to him once more, closing what little distance remains between their two souls, smoothing her lips over his.

She holds her breath for a moment, taking it all in.

Gentle, soft, _perfect_. His mouth presses on hers, as felt and cherished as every contact to day, as his hold on her face keeping them etched together, as if there was any other way to be. A coming together so happy and _them_ , more that she could've anticipated.

It doesn't escalate, grow heated or frenzied, both wonderfully drifting on the ease and thrill of that simple touch that encompasses so much. A moment suspended in time and place, all between the palms of his hands and the touch of his lips.

And when they part at last, after seconds or a lifetime, their foreheads press together, a gasp leaving her lips and meeting his. Eyes closed but hearts wide open, she melts into his embrace, incredulous laughter filling the air for how much a mere peck has electrified them.

"That happened," she murmurs against his mouth, feeling his chest rumble under her hand.

"I'm glad it did," he says in his softest voice yet, the brightness she finds in his eyes once hers flutter open shows just how much. Happiness radiates off him like never before; she hopes he feels just how vibrant she feels as well.

As overwhelming as this new territory may be, considering their unparalleled vulnerability, ultimately she loves it as much as being able to feel him to the core in every way. Because there's nothing like sensing what he's feeling for her together with seeing it reflected in his eyes.

Eyes that take in every inch of her face in fascination. Hands that lovingly caress the tender skin behind her ears, thumbs reverently soothing her flushed cheeks. And lips that stretch in the most radiant smile she's ever seen on another human being, let alone her own match.

Lips that open, words playing on the tip of his tongue as she holds her breath in anticipation.

Can there be more than this? Than them this way?

"Hey," is said, but not from his lips or hers. A blur of motion drifts their attention towards the now opened door.

 _Thea,_ his thought passes to her.

The bouncy girl with the wide and easy grin tilts her head to the side, taking him in. Her little face scrunches into a frown. "Whaddya doing, big brother?"

Belatedly they both realise how this must look: him literally holding onto the air. At least she didn't walk in when he was kissing it.

Oliver begrudgingly drops his hands from her face, his warmth on her skin instantly missed; an understood 'sorry' in his eyes meeting hers.

"It's okay," she says, sweeping her thumb over his parted lips, ridding him of the imprint of her faded lipstick. The ghost of his breath against it quickens her own fluttering heart, making her take a deciding step backwards to anchor them to his physical reality.

And with a wink that's more of a glorified blink from her, she bids her goodbye for now, the thought of tomorrow and whatever comes next filling them both from within.

The fairytale library and those dreamy blue eyes fade from sight, the bright light from the hallway shining back on her alone.

She takes another moment then, leaning onto the wall, catching her breath, letting the last few minutes wash over her.

The rush of the airport is even quieter than it was before, but still a clear contrast to the intimacy and quietness that's them. It isn't long before even more reality calls at her, the overhead speaker announcing her flight boarding.

And just then another thought that's been tempting her more and more with time comes to mind again.

She takes the boarding pass out of her pocket, looks at the destination that feels stranger than ever. And, in a moment of courage, betting on life and all that can be, she walks to a counter to change it to a name that will bring them even closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> we're closing in on the end of the story. but chapter 5 has gotten away from me word-wise, so there may be a chapter 6, if it's alright with you all  
> pretty please let me know, as well with your reactions and/or thoughts about the chapter :) feedback is everything!!  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/162834942072/keep-your-head-up-and-make-it-to-me-chapter-4)]


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I struggled a bit with it, but am finally really happy with this long-awaited moment.  
> And in return, it's by far the longest chapter yet!

She soundlessly pats around her room.

The carpet beneath her heeled feet unusually silences her nervous wandering. With a thumbnail between her teeth and an unstoppable mind, she is close to losing it. Because what can she say or do now? Has she gone too far? Overstepped the seemingly boundless relationship between them? I mean, is it even a _relationship_ relationship? Or just an inevitability gone physical?

Every step taken has felt right, for them both, she'd guess based on everything he has allowed her to feel of him lately.

Not like _that_. Yet.

The notion sends a shiver down her body. In anticipation, thrill, longing. For as much as she could try to deny it, she's a goner for Oliver Queen. She feels so much it's terrifying, because with so much between them, physically and otherwise, there was no time and space to really ponder the idea of an actual romantic, together them.

But after everything they've gone through and shared, she finds herself longing for the unthinkable: a future with him in any way possible.

Which is what had driven her to send a single email before boarding her plane. And accepted the offer to the possibility of it once their call had come through upon landing.

And that's how she's grown into a nervous wreck in the last day, for the first time trying to put off a meeting with Oliver. Which is actually harder than it sounds, considering them thinking about each other is usually what ties them together in every way. And thinking of Oliver comes as easily as breathing.

This is pointless. The hiding, escaping the unavoidable. So taking a deep breath she stops her pacing, closes her eyes and calls back to him.

It doesn't take long before the now familiar swish of an arrow rouses her. A ping pong ball is caught between the arrow head and the wall it has embedded into. She shudders at the sudden cold that overtakes her, prefacing the damp and drafty warehouse Oliver transports her to.

Surprisingly she's overcome by jealousy at the sight of him; for he's wearing just a grey short sleeved t-shirt and cargo pants, beads of sweat on his forehead betraying his complete absence of cold. But soon enough it's the way his face is scrunched up in annoyance that catches her attention.

He's steely focused on his task, the same worn-down bow she's seen in his hands what feels like a lifetime ago stretched before him, an arrow held on the string. He tests its weight and direction for a beat, then lowers it minutely only to throw a ping pong ball flying forward. And, in the fastest move she's seen in ages, he nocks the arrow while raising the bow, draws back and releases his grip.

The arrow finds its target, through the ball, into the wall.

"Ten out of ten," she finds herself saying, instead of clapping.

He seems startled for a moment, clearly haven't felt her yet in all his concentration and pent-up emotions. But as soon as their eyes meet, his crinkle with happiness, worried lines vanishing from sight.

" _Felicity_ ," he sighs as if all is right again. And in three long strides she's wrapped in his embrace, lifted from the ground and being twirled around.

Her laughter comes free and unbridled. Beneath his touch her fears seem so foreign, silly even. So she lets herself sink into this warmth, breathing in a scent that's purely his, taking in everything he's letting her feel right now.

A kiss lands on her collarbone, so swift yet precious in its meaning, the physical comfort between them growing as natural as existing as one. Far too soon, he lowers her on her feet, thankfully still keeping her so close virtually every inch of them is touching. There are no complaints from her.

But a buried trepidation comes forth, either hers of his, but now firmly theirs. So leaning forward she places a delicate kiss to his jawline, smoothing her hand upwards until his face is cradled between the warmth of her palm and the taste of her lips.

A most satisfying sound resonates from within him, skin trembling under her mouth. And with soft pecks and purposed nips she calms his brewing storm, only giving voice to her question once he's pliant and settled against her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," his hoarse voice echoes around them. The turmoil from within rumbling in complaint. "Not now. Not with you."

"You know I don't make it go away, though," she says, reminding herself of the same thing about him; for they both need to work on being whole by themselves too.

He hums in agreement, the palm that's found its way to the small of her back caressing her in soothing motions, barely feeling her skin where her top meets her jeans.

"Don't think I don't feel you struggling too. I'm just more polite about it," he jokes, drawing her closer still, laughter bubbling up from deep within his chest, echoing her own. She finds herself softly biting down on the underside of his jaw in retaliation.

A playful sound leaves his lips feigning hurt, but the way his touch edges her lower back under the fabric, teasing her so, says how much he's enjoying all this. She takes it in, relishing in their bubble of happiness and understanding. And when he finally gives voice to heartfelt words, she marvels at their ability to navigate good and bad at once with such ease.

"But really, you know I'm here for you too, right? I feel like we always end up in my head, glancing over yours. I don't know when I'm pushing too hard, but don't want you to feel like you need to hold back on my account, ever."

She swears he can feel how she's smiling now against his skin but, just in case, she leans back, cradles his face in her hands and meets his profoundly blue eyes. She lets him take her in, the lines in her face uplifted in adoration; and in turn runs her thumbs through the stubbled jaw and up his cheeks, gently drawing him closer still, to seal her affection in a most postponed kiss.

His lips are just as soft and pillowy against her own as she remembers, easily gliding with each other, inciting them to get more.

And more it swiftly becomes, as the warmth from his touch on her back seeps through her, exciting her to nip at his bottom lip, lightly tugging at it. The groan he lets out is ravenous, cutting through to her core, making her eager to hear it again.

And in a bold move that feels next to normal between them, she licks the seam of his mouth open, wondering at his immediate moan in response that leaves his now parted lips. One she devours, getting lost in the confines of his mouth, teasing and riling each other up. His taste overwhelms her, pure Oliver coming through every sense, drowning her in this _them_.

Her hand slides into his hair, carding through the short strands, bringing him closer still, her whole body curving into his impressive one. And between his second and third moan she devours, wonderfully lost between his talented lips, his hand finds its way beneath her shirt; warm palm as gentle and loving as ever, yet urgent and consuming in its touch.

 _His touch_.

A treacherous thought pierces through her lust-dazed conscience. A wish and wonder, so tempting and possibly dangerous as it could change everything.

How would it _really_ feel against her own?

He must sense the way her body momentarily freezes against his entire being, for he leans back just enough to detach their mouths, harsh breaths mingling for the first time since her kiss set them aflame. And with the most ridiculously attractive frown she's ever seen on a human being, he focuses his sight on hers and voices her previous words.

"What's wrong?"

And yes, his voice is deliciously throaty, reminding her of the tingling sensation on the skin surrounding her lips, tender from the beard-burn.

Would that be noticeable in her reality? Or would the imprint of his passion become a mere sensory memory, instead of fact? Would that be different if…?

"Hey," he says, voice tender with affection. His hand reverently holds her face, those hauntingly beautiful eyes outpouring every emotion he's feeling for and with her. "Is this okay?"

"Yes!" she swiftly says, appeasing his worry slightly. "Yeah, there's nothing wrong with that, absolutely _nothing_. That's very good, great, ten out of ten too." She may be blushing rambling aimlessly, a recurrent trait as of late. And she may even be gesturing wildly towards his chest and her own, a mental countdown needed to centre herself once more. Thankfully, in true Oliver fashion, he waits for her patiently and gleefully, content with having her within arms reach, reassuring in his touch and warm smile shined her way.

So she takes a deep breath and, focusing in all his pretty expressive features, gets back to what she came here to say.

"Actually I have something to tell you."

"Oh," he lets out, surprise colouring his gaze, worry mixing with his light-hearted mirth. "You want to talk. And I basically pounced on you as soon as you appeared."

"Well no complaints here really. I _did_ kiss you first. But to the point, mister." She tries to focus on his silent but felt support, the openness in his face, and the encouraging palm against the naked skin of her back. "I'm here."

Puzzlement is still present in his deep blues.

" _Here_ here. As in Starling here."

And there she sees it, the moment the true meaning dawns on him. For the second before the mix of emotions flowing through him settles on a predominant one, she holds her breath, an apology for acting without asking ready to be voiced.

But then his eyes widen in delight, a surge of happiness warming her from within, his own wildly beating heart matching her pace.

"You _are_?" He's breathless; awe, excitement and confusion tainting his voice as he takes her in once more, seemingly trying to catalog what he feels, a difference in their touch maybe.

"No, not here in this…" she trails off, eyes sweeping around the wrecked and seemingly abandoned room surrounding him.

"Foundry," he says, filling in the blanks next, "my father's steel factory, closed down before… It's the only quiet place I've found, to truly be by myself for a while, unwind."

She hums, getting a peek into what was probably troubling him before she popped up unannounced. An image of his mother and a press conference flashing before her eyes, eliciting a rush of discomfort and anger that's what surely drew him towards the familiar release in the form of archery.

"What do they want from you?"

He shakes his head, his touch drifting to her shoulders, kneading them, trying to de-stress them both; the promise of later hanging in the air, as he meets her gaze again.

"And you? Where… where _are_ you?" his voice is thick with both excitement and hesitation, focusing back on her wavering way of delivering her news.

For a moment she entertains the thought of simply trying to make them pierce into her view; but the mere idea of Oliver standing in her hotel room, steps away from her bed, steers her away, her cheeks flushing red at the path her mind takes her to time and again.

"Starling Grand," she says then. "I didn't know where to find you, look for you. Showing up at the Mansion unannounced was too scary," she shudders, her nose crinkling, amusing him to no end. The awe-struck look in his eyes never leaves, his happiness settling within her, reassuring her on this journey, even if he's still seemingly short of breath and silent, not quite stunting her babble. "And wandering around town seemed a bit aimless, even though I've seen a few spots from you. So I thought the polite thing would be giving you a call. And instead of hacking the phone companies to track down your number or something, I just… poof!"

By now his smile is so wide a kissable dimple is present in his cheek, his face looking relaxed and pleasantly overjoyed; the most wonderful contrast to the first time she ever laid eyes on him.

"You are remarkable," he sighs in adoration, teasing the warmed cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Thank you for remarking on it," she says, anchoring on his touch, leaving the offer of a reunion hanging in the air.

Just a weighty minute passes by, of their eyes catching, saying and reading everything they're feeling. And so when their lips part again, their words intertwine, the weight and meaning of what this entails hanging in the air.

"Would you–"

"Can I–"

"Yes!"

"Which–"

"320."

* * *

There's no more pacing. Nervous jitters overtaken by anticipation. Every doubt and uncertainty shed away with the taste of his lips still present within hers. The warmth of his body has faded, but the clutter of emotions rumbling in her stomach is as much Oliver's as it is hers. So she holds onto that for however long it takes him to make it to her.

And when he does, she feels it, a whisper of unease flowing through him. Her feet carry her towards the door; her fingers splay over polished wood, mirroring the shape of his on the outside.

"It's okay. We can wait," she whispers, trying to dull the sadness that overcomes her at the thought of putting more distance between them.

But then a deep breath, that is actually his, fills her lungs, and his tentative touch against the door turns into a knocking fist.

The sound resounds around her. Strong, decisive, as clear as her intake of breath at the realisation that this is no longer just in her head, but physically and actually _there_.

Her fingers close over the handle, a fine tremble running through her body at what awaits her on the other side of the door. And, when that final barrier is broken, she's the one that is breathless at the first real, wholesome look into his eyes.

Just as deep, haunting, beautifully blue, and intense as always; electrifying her head to toe as they widen meeting hers. Entranced, mesmerised by their holding gaze, the same air flowing through their lungs. She feels complete at last, not divided onto two sides of the same coin, tossed by destiny onto distant spots on the map, struggling to find their way to each other.

Her sight dances over Oliver before her, taking in every inch of him as if it were the very first time. His skin is vibrating with everything in him, in her, them in this very moment. She can feel it as sharp as her own, the quickening heartbeat and shortness of breath too.

"You're here," she says, relishing in the joy that lights his face up at the notion. He nods, seemingly in awe of the sound of her voice reaching him loud and clear.

His fingers twitch by his side, that fidgety thumb rubbing his anxiousness away, as his feet feel heavy anchored on the spot.

There's a part of Felicity that wants to drag the nearest person around and point at him, reassuring herself that this is _real_ real –as if every cell in her body wasn't screaming at her that actual truth. But the less rational and emotionally driven side is just anxious for more. If this thing overtaking her body is just a reaction to the mere sight of him, how would it actually be if she were to reach out and touch him?

Oliver is seemingly of a same mind, probably even reading hers, for he raises his hand ever so slowly, sight set on hers once more, offering, asking and giving everything her brain's battling on.

Biting down on her lip she edges closer, alternating her focus from his eyes to his hand, inching her own hand forward, mesmerised by the dwindling space between them. And when he's all but a threadbare away, she holds her breath, letting him take the last step, choosing this, sealing them, as it's been their thing.

The first graze of their fingers is indescribable.

A buzzing sensation bursts through her body, lighting up her sight, filling her from within with such strength and power she's speechless, momentarily breathless too. And when she finally comes to, air leaves her parted lips in the form of laugher, echoing the joyful amazement shining out of Oliver. He's beautiful, unfairly so, open and completely taken by this incredible thing between them and everything it has changed.

And between incredulous laughter and smile lines that are as refreshing in both of their faces as the deep rooted affection that's been drawing them together, he pulls her closer, closer still, until his other hand takes ahold of her face. His touch is just as warm and inviting as ever, even more addictive so, especially coupled with the breathless ' _Felicity_ ' that he whispers, shaking his head in wonder.

Her name has never sounded better.

She's sure she's flushing under his touch, a visible, lasting redness at that too, yet there's no shyness or fear but pure happiness bubbling up her throat. In a world so devastating and haunted as it's been their own for so long, the newfound lightness and pleasure is so surprising and welcomed, she can't get enough.

Neither can he, if his widening smile and wandering touch is to be considered. The way he holds her is already so familiar and comfortable, she doesn't even have to think to lean into it, embracing his warmth.

And in that moment suspended in time, yet firmly anchored in a same space at last, they drown in each other.

The first touch of their lips puts any kiss to date to shame. The magnetism and overwhelming feeling of him inside out is sublime. Tears well up in her eyes as this moment dawns on her, melting into the sweet sensation of Oliver against her lips, cheeks, forehead, completely leaning into each other with abandon.

Softness defines their touch, rediscovering each other, taking in what once was thought now irrefutable action. And as it sinks in, that this is real, possible, and wanted, a renewed spark rouses them to further action.

"Oliver," she gasps, and they come together hungrily this time.

His touch searing, incomparable, tracing paths onto her skin, awakening nerves seemingly asleep without his embrace. Completely overtaken by their long-awaited meeting, she doesn't even have to think to counter his moves, effortlessly reaching to him, to hold, cherish and–

A word bursts through her mind, perfectly encompassing everything flowing through her, through them. She's so overcome by it, both surprised at her brain's ability to think at all under Oliver's kisses, and startled at how normal and fitting the sentiment is. For such a terrifying concept for her, somehow leaning back to look into Oliver's eyes, it feels absolutely right.

_Love._

She doesn't need to say it, words never having been that important between them. But she lets him feel it, wordless but so felt, in her deepening blue eyes where he gets lost for a moment, and the delicate hand caressing his face. He smiles softly and closes his eyes, gratefulness and devotion flowing through to her. And when they open at last, tears are swimming in them, displaying how much this means to him and her both.

They fall onto each other willingly and without doubt, sharing their undying love and support one kiss at a time.

They drift through the room, losing inhibitions and restraints in every way, glimpses of their thoughts passing through freely. His touch becomes so familiar with her skin that when her shirt meets the floor, a sigh of relief leaves both of their lips. And between nips and licks, to her shoulder, neck, jaw and mouth, he incites the passion between them.

It flows and echoes, keen noises filling the air as much as pants and whispers of their names; until an unusually shaky 'Felicity' leaves his lips just as she begins tugging his shirt upwards.

Oliver leans back, chest heaving from their onslaught, but sight troubled and hesitant. The whisper of doubt he'd showcased just outside her door seeps through her again, turning her touch tender and soothing. It takes a moment before truth leaves him in thought, hanging between them.

_Scars._

Marking his chest and body unevenly, a physical proof of the hardship endured. He doesn't feel ashamed at the thought of them, or in pain at their feel, but afraid of what it can do to her.

"I don't want you to see those memories, feel that pain, anymore than you already did."

A familiar self-hatred is present in him, but she's slightly relieved at it not being nearly as strong as he'd showcased before. Wounds are still fresh in mind, probably never will be completely recovered, just like the imprint on his flesh, but if life and them finding each other has shown her anything, is they can grow through them.

Holding his gaze she takes a step forward, closing the space he's put between them figuratively and physically, letting him feel her trust, admiration and support with every fiber of her being.

"I'm here for you," she says, reaching him and just holding his face. The struggle is visible in sight, but the surge of emotions battling within him is what shows her the moment he pushes through it all.

His hand comes up and decisively lifts his shirt out of the way, until it falls on the floor with a thud. She drowns in his eyes, pride and trust shining through, her palm landing on his shoulder and smoothing down, past ridges and bumps as well as defined lines, to find a home onto his hips.

He smiles, that tender, loving curve of his mouth that's entranced her for so long. She mirrors it all the way up to him sealing it with a kiss.

Their come together feels as natural as breathing, even with every new inch of skin uncovered. A myriad of sensations overwhelm her with clothes shed, warmed skin against her own, her heels to his back once he effortlessly lifts her to him. Emotions that keep growing, ernest, impassioned, agonising and downright carnal as two souls meld into one, one loving kiss at a time.

And before raw cries fill the room, his and hers that'll be loudly heard from right across the hall, he mutters an ultimate truth. Right before they're joined in the last earthy way left, she takes in the look on his face lit through the darkness as his lips lift from hers, whispering three words for just her to know:

"I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> I hope you enjoyed their meeting at last. It was a feat to write, so feedback of any sort would be super appreciated. Encouragement in times of writing and editing helps so much!  
> Only a chapter left to wrap their journey :)  
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/163111326582/keep-your-head-up-and-make-it-to-me-chapter-5)]


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've reached the end

Her mind drifts awake at his touch.

Soft, tentative against her stomach, as if he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her body to fade away as it's always done with time. So she lowers her hand from her pillow to his hold, fingers dancing over his seemingly always warm skin, feeling his intake of breath against her back.

Burrowing onto his hold even more, she whispers a familiar thought, voiced or passed through many times before, mostly refuted or left unanswered by them both.

"What's wrong?"

In the comfortableness of her hotel room, a whisper is more than enough, shared reality notwithstanding. And so a puff of air against her neck is his first answer, him pressing even closer comes next, words taking their sweet time to fill the empty space between them. But she waits, as he's done for her as well, trust and support in any way possible being their thing.

"I don't like it out there," he says, sounding borderline like a petulant kid for a moment, "want to stay here forever," he adds, laughing against her hair, bringing levity to the weight anchoring them both.

"I know what you mean, it's not very healthy though."

He grunts, petulantly.

But before long, as her thumb brushes over his knuckles, feeling overwhelmed with wonder for all he is, deeper thoughts come through.

"I'm not what they want. What they expect. Still don't know what I want for myself…"

"You have time."

"I do, thanks to you," he says, voice tainted with affection as he presses a lovely kiss to the tender skin of her neck. She smiles, thanking her will to push past her own darkness and fears of messing another person up again, to fight for him. He smiles against her skin, taking a moment, giving her the breather from those thoughts she's silently requesting. "I've been trying to be there for Thea more, that's been nice. She's so alive even after having been through so much, trying to hide her sadness too. Some of it comes out in anger at times, against mom, or me for coming back alone… I can't blame her."

"She's young, she'll understand," she offers, feeling guilt clawing back at him thinking of his father and others lost in the way. Foreign faces come through, stories she's got in pieces, sometimes feelings attached without facts. She fights the part of herself that longs for more of those mysteries shed in uncertainty and endless dangers that can come at him at any time. She reminds herself they have time too, to grow and heal, and maybe even open up what's locked deep within them.

He hums in agreement, letting a pair of bright blue eyes come through. Not his own, but ones partnered with mischief and a wide smirk. Flashes of those same eyes, and the ones she loves more than anything, appear next, but in young faces, bodies several inches shorter, dashing through the Manor grounds, free laughter filling the air.

"Tommy," he breathes, but glee is barely present in his voice here, "he's been so enthusiastic since I came back. For him it's like I never left at all. Like mom, she's been…" a heavy sigh, her fingers lace with his. " _mom_. Strong-headed, resilient, pushing through, making calls for everyone, myself included."

"Well… I don't mean to fuel the fire, but that sounds slightly familiar," she says playfully. He stops, thinking back surely, so she goes on. "I don't know everything, so I'm not defending her every action, but I'm sure she wants to protect you Oliver. For better or for worse, she's probably terrified of losing you again, mama bear thing and all," the sentiment sounds weird coupled with the intimidating figure of Moira Queen, but having seen the broken look on her face upon laying eyes on her lost son, she knows it's true somehow. "Granted, she's probably doing it wrong for you, as Tommy may be too, and I know you think words are not your strong suit, but maybe you can show them your boundaries. Work with them to establish this new normal for you and them too."

He's pensive, the soft motions of his thumb against the back of her hand showing she hasn't terribly overstepped, offended him or his world. She wonders when that feeling will wear off, so much already having grown accepted and familiar with him.

"Yeah," he lets out at last, "running away has been my way of doing so I guess, but words could work too."

"And time, give yourself and them time. Change is hard, even _this_ took a hot minute to sink in," she says lightly tugging at their joined hands, "even if it's great. As you being with your family again is."

"Yes. Almost as good as this," he teases, his free hand coming up to push wayward strands of her hair out of the way, so his mouth can descend onto the back of her jaw, nipping softly yet it being enough for a breathless moan to leave her parted lips.

She'd be ashamed of how fast they get off track, how a simple touch and sentiment shared has her turning in his arm and losing herself in the confines of his mouth, if this weren't as new and intense and simply _right_ as it is.

* * *

It's almost dawn when she stirs up again. His heartbeat flutters against her ear, its rhythm wild and almost as hurried as the up and down motion of his chest.

This time she doesn't even have to ask the cause, the wrong is in sight: strained muscles aching, a treacherous feeling rising within them both, the greenery and darkness looming around him, and her too now, setting this scene, this memory on the island. And, just as her sight is focusing on a figure slumped before her, Oliver snatches her back to today.

"No!" he shouts, finally feeling her awake and bursting through his mind.

She leans back, giving him room on the bed until his eyes close, the turmoil within washing away with deep breaths and mental countdowns she paces inwardly. It's not until his deep blues are shining back on hers again, less clouded and intense, that she closes the distance and lays back into his awaiting hold, where he cradles her again against his heart. And between mindless lines traced onto his ridiculously muscly chest, reflected with his rugged fingers against her bare shoulders, he eases down to a point where she feels it safe to bring her fears onto words.

"We can't keep doing that," she says, "cutting each other off when the fight gets too tough."

Her words hang in the air, betraying the tears that have welled up in her eyes at his pain, and his reluctance to make it her own too.

"I want to protect you."

"And I do too. But being there for each other works best. I want you to lean on me, Oliver. And I'll let you in too, as scary as it may get."

Silently, she feels his struggles, his defences crumbling through, as clear as the soothing circles he's drawing now over the tender skin of her lower back.

"I killed someone," he admits in a burst of air. The statement lays heavily around them. "Between the rooftop and showing up at your class. A wounded guard baited me into trusting him, then attacked me. I reacted and before I could stop it, him, _myself_ … he was dead," his voice cracks at the memory, his head shaking side to side. She holds him a bit tighter still, recounting the haunted look in his eyes when he refused her help that day in the hall. "Blood was in my hands. I couldn't bare thinking they could be in yours too."

"It's my life, my choice. And I choose you," she says, decisively.

Breath leaves his lungs in a whoosh. She knows a part of him fights that notion, a part of her does too; anything good that comes from her coding feeling tainted by all the wrong it's put into the world. It's taken so much hard work and time for her work not to feel tainted by blood too, in its own way.

"I choose you too, always," he says, voice as tender and poignant as she's ever heard it. "But.. it's gonna take me some time to believe I can have this, without holding some of that back," his hand cradles her closer, if possible, another finding her hand over his prickled skin.

"Okay," she breathes, overcome by emotion too, a handful of hope sitting behind her ribs, for a whole him, her, them, that will grow and settle in time.

"Okay," he echoes, laying a kiss onto her hairline, as sweet and inviting as the feeling of his love fighting the walls his time away built in him.

* * *

A full day is just their own.

No phone-calls, untimely interruptions or troubling reality yanking them away. Instead there is time, and silence, for this them to settle some and become familiar with everything it entails.

There is so much still unknown, feared, but also, if possible, an even greater sense of understanding and togetherness tying them together; even more than a sensory connection ever could. And when they part at last, it's with the promise of coffee actually tasted by them both, in the light of day and between people who will only think them mad for the happiness displayed by a recently discovered castaway and an unknown blonde.

There he shares his carefree smile, seldom seen and so precious, and she tentatively shares the job interview taken to a company bearing his name. His encouragement and whole-hearted support smooths her worried lines into a dimple of her own. Her own trust and faith in him prompts him sharing his decision to take a step back from the company –much to his mother's disappointment– to find out his own path and direction. Her tight hold on his hand and proud smile further cheer him on in becoming his own version of Oliver Queen, self-made and working to be happy with himself.

It takes a week for the job offer to be firmly hers, his hug lifting her in congratulations as soon as she is safely out of sight.

Then for two weeks they have to part; for her to gather her scattered home in Vegas to settle anew in a place that actually _feels_ like home, even when not in his arms. And this time, when they pierce through to the other's side, it's different; for they're no longer getting glimpses into each other's lives, stolen moments that swiftly get carried away by the wind, but actual deliberate windows to their soul and everything that fills them:

Her mother's shrieks upon meeting her at the airport, making her bounce up and down in her hold, enthusiasm bleeding into Oliver too. ' _Mom?_ ' he mouths meeting Felicity's stare over the voluminous blonde hair against her face. She simply smiles, letting the prospect of those two actually crossing paths play in her head for a while. Of course Donna reads the newfound happiness on her in a second, only widening Oliver's smile at her overjoyed " _is it a boy?_ "

Pictures upon walls, that spark memories of young Felicity in her own world, painting a bigger picture on his map of her. Hands held and stories told, in public or the safety of his side of things, where distance means so little in keeping them apart.

It still makes their come together all the greater thought. A rumbling sensation awakes her from her flight that's apparently already landed, only explained when, after a badly needed kiss as she meets him by the gate, Oliver leads them to his motorbike.

A sense of adventure is kept alive with each day passed, even as they settle on a new normal that is as grounded as exciting in its discoveries. They take comfort in the extraordinary acute feeling of each other to the core even when miles away, as well as in the common wonder of him moving furniture around her new place, getting compliments from her new neighbour, who can see him clear as day.

In just another week her badge is printed and scanned for the first time while entering Queen Consolidated, Oliver Queen himself crossing those familiar doors a mere day later to meet his match in the IT floor, where crimson lips and a rosy shirt light his morning up, explaining the craving for red he's had from the moment he awoke.

That doesn't take long to arise chatter, news flying all the way up to the active CEO, Walter Steele, and his right-hand woman, one Moira Queen that is first worried at her son's behaviour wavering to unwanted but familiar territories, but that grows wonderfully surprised and appreciative of the genuine affection and intent once Oliver truly introduces her to his family.

It takes Tommy all of two seconds to accept her into their fold, finally understanding all the possible candidates for dates Oliver's shrugged off, looking at Felicity visiting him instead. It takes Thea even less to tackle her in a hug that feels even better with Oliver's emotions at the sight. It takes no longer than ten minutes into their dinner together for them to realise, for all their connection and knowledge of each other, that Oliver can't lie for shit; as she's the one left explaining their coming together as tech assistance needed once he'd been back in the 21st century.

The fact that he actually smiles for the first time when his time away is mentioned doesn't go unnoticed by anyone around the table, only further cementing the notion that this is something else, even more than the happiness and comfort radiating from them both states so. And so love at first sight is filed as their reason for being ridiculously in sync and head over heels for one another after barely a month of him being home.

Everything is not always that easy thought. The nightmares that awake them both, playing back in each others head, are so intense and vivid it's hard to shake them off; especially since they're not fiction, but their other half's reality. But they choose themselves, in the darkness reaching out, physically or otherwise, time after time until the comforting security of their presence overtakes the surprise.

And so their journey takes on a less winded road, bumped and intense at times too, but with the steady reality of being one in so many ways it becomes harder to get lost on just him or herself. They take it one moment at a time, cherishing what they've got, discovering what they want, where they need to tread lightly. She slowly lets her own walls weaken willingly with the strength of this them, vulnerable and mending with time, with him now too as well. And their darkness becomes known, embraced, shared, acknowledged and dealt with instead of smothered or hidden away.

And his name, only echoed in the silence that surrounded her once, becomes forever the name on her lips; firmly heard by him day after day, tainted with every emotion possible, but ultimately with undying love as they promise forever to each other, the _always_ that's been a certainty for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much reading!  
> I sincerely hope you've enjoyed this journey. It's been a joy to write and explore an idea that's been floating around my head ever since I've first watched sense8. (if you dig the travelling to other's world, maybe you'll enjoy that show too :)  
> Thank you for the support all along!! One final time I ask you to please leave some feedback on your experience and thoughts on this fic. No matter when you find this story, just a moment further of your time to let me know what you liked or what made you come this far would be super appreciated.  
> Until the next adventure :)  
> Lucy
> 
> [[tumblr post](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/post/163357129887/keep-your-head-up-and-make-it-to-me-chapter-6)]

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: /releaseurinhibitions


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